


Last Stand Of The 300

by raging_storm (orphan_account)



Category: 300 (2006)
Genre: Betrayal, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Fights, Final Battle, Spears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 05:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/raging_storm
Summary: Never retreat, never surrender. That is Spartan law.Leonidas and the three hundred make their last stand at the Pass of Thermopylae.





	Last Stand Of The 300

**Author's Note:**

> This probably will make little to no sense if you have not seen the movie or read the graphic novel.
> 
> Watch this clip to understand a little of it, though. It's amazing, please watch it.
> 
> https://youtu.be/k4F8kj0TYHs

The wind toussled his beard and hair, caressing his sweaty face and cooling him beneath the crimson cape wrapped about his shoulders.

Not a sound was made as the king stood, one hand gripping his spear, standing tall and proud as he watched the assembling army. The Persian army was vast beyond imagining, their numbers so many that for each Spartan warrior, there were three thousand Persians. When they marched, the ground shook, and when they charged, they swallowed the land whole.

And yet King Leonidas of Sparta had stood firm against the charge, and proved that the Spartan army, despite its size, was far superior to the Persians. With each charge, they broke on the Spartan phalanx, were impaled upon Spartan spears, were slaughtered by Spartan swords. Despite the odds, the Spartans prevailed.

And now the three hundred men that King Leonidas had taken from Sparta stood in a ball, shields raised above their heads or around them, creating an orb of shields that the Spartans were tucked behind.

The king himself said not a word but stood at the entrance to the Hot Gates, only too aware of the Persian archers mounted on the cliffs behind him and above him. And in front of him, in all his glory, the bronze-skinned God-King Xerxes sat on his gilded throne, the majestic platform carried by a hundred slaves, watching greedily as his men flooded the pass and surrounded Leonidas and his men.

They expected to die.

The Spartans had came to the Pass of Thermopylae, the Hot Gates, knowing victory was not in their grasp. For how could they stand against mighty Xerxes' army of slaves? And the ephors of Sparta, corrupt as they were, would not permit Sparta to go to war. And even the king must obey the ephors. Yet still Leonidas had defied them, taking three hundred loyal men.

Not to war, he justified, for they would not be leaving Sparta. Instead they marched north, to the Hot Gates, where they bottled the Persians up in the pass. In order for them to reach Sparta, the Persians would have to force their way through the pass, and that they could not do, for they could not break the interminable shield wall. And the Spartans, demon warriors as they were, slew them all as they advanced, marching over the corpses they'd laid upon the ground, their shields glinting in the sun and their blades stained red.

But they were trapped, and betrayed, and the fight had come to an end. Three bloody days of combat had culminated in this final stand, the stand of three hundred Spartans against the hundreds of thousands of Persian soldiers. 

And how Leonidas regretted that he could not take Xerxes down with him in this last moment.

An emissary stepped forward. Pierced nose, dark skin, foreboding expression, he gestured to Leonidas wildly. And behind Leonidas, the Spartans waited, surrounded by their large shields. "Leonidas. The war is but over, and you have lost. Both sides have suffered. But the God-King is merciful, and he offers you and your men your lives."

Leonidas listened quietly as the man spoke.

"You fight for your lands. Keep them. You fight for your freedoms. You shall be free men, this I vow! There is only one thing required of you. Lay down your spear, and kneel to holy Xerxes."

In that moment, the winds calmed as the whole world waited for answer of the Spartan king. They were all that stood between the Persian army and Greece, they knew. Those brave three hundred souls, who came, who fought, who would die.

If Leonidas did not surrender.

The Spartan king turned, and his eyes fell upon a familiar figure. His mouth turned down in disappointment, and he leveled his spear at the twisted figure clothed in Persian raimant.

Ephialtes was born disfigured, crippled and hunched, with his face bulging and disgusting, his back twisted and lumpy, his arms stunted, his legs weak. Yet he had been born of Sparta, and his mother carried him off before he could be discarded, as all weakling Spartan children were. He lived, he returned, and he begged a favor of the king.

"I shall fight in the Spartan phalanx," he told Leonidas, before the first charge of the pass had even come to be. "I was taught to handle shield, and spear, and sword." This he demonstrated to the king while he watched patiently. But afterward, he had told Ephialtes nay.

"You cannot raise your shield, my friend. In a Spartan phalanx, a man protects the brothers to his left and his right with his shield. We cannot use you." And he had left the heartbroken and angry Ephialtes atop a hill whilst he rejoined his men for the first battle.

He paid for it now, for Ephialtes had gone to Xerxes, and told the God-King how he might finally break the Spartan wall. He showed the Persian archers the Goat Path, a path that took them behind the Hot Gates and above the Spartans.

Leonidas' eyes were sad as he pointed his spear at the disfigured Ephialtes. "You there, Ephialtes," he said. "May you live forever." Ephialtes closed his eyes and turned away in shame.

A final word spoken. Leonidas knew what to do.

"Leonidas, your spear," the emissary demanded in rough tones. And Xerxes watched intently as Leonidas turned his gaze upon the adamant Persian before him. Behind him, he felt the breath of the three hundred. In front of him, he saw only death. Death, and the might of a hundred thousand Persians.

With a clang, the spear fell to the ground. It echoed in the pass, long and loud, and raised dirt from the hard ground.

His shield went next. He slid it off his scarred and muscled arm to hit the ground with a clangor. It bounced and came to rest at his feet.

With one hand, he reached up and grabbed the helmet that perched atop his head, removing it with one swift movement. He let it fall, where it lay next to his shield.

The God-King rose from his chair, watching Leonidas from on high with a strange expression on his jeweled face.

And slowly, the Spartan's knees bent, and he fell to the ground, his greaves scraping the dirt. With one flowing motion, he bent at the waist, till his face was near the dirt, and he perched only on his fists and knees.

The God-King raised his arms in triumph, extending them slowly outwards, victorious. For there, in the dirt, keeled the king of Sparta at long last.

Leonidas said naught, only thought of his wife back home in Sparta. How he caressed her face, made a son, lay with her in the meadows at Sparta. And a single tear traced its way down his face as he thought of her.

He had failed. He had kneeled.

But he knew what he must do.

A feeling of calm swept over him as he remained in the kneeling position, and he closed his eyes. The God-King Xerxes did not feel the need to move as he reveled in his glory. For he had conquered this civilization, one he could not beat, he had trampled their army and forced their king into submission. The Empire would not fall, not to any Greek city-state, and who would save Greece if not Sparta?

Leonidas felt a fury in his soul, and a sense of resignation as the fight rekindled in him, and he opened his mouth then and shouted, a single word. " _STELIOS!"_

And suddenly the Spartan formation broke, with Spartans moving swiftly in either direction, bringing their shields down in front of them, and leveling their spears outwards at the Persians. 

There was a long cry, and with a running start, a Spartan ran, Leonidas' trusted young warrior, Stelios. He ran, long hair streaming in the wind, one foot upon Leonidas' back as he launched himself off the kneeling king and straight at the Persian emissary.

His spear entered the man's chest and exited through his back. Stelios wrenched the spear out, blood spurting and coating the point, and assumed a threatening position besides his king. 

Xerxes' face was twisted with rage as he swept a hand furiously at the Spartans. "Slaughter them!" he roared, and the Persians clashed with the Spartans. Sword met shield, spear met body, and the Persians dropped like flies. 

Leonidas himself rose from the ground, face set in determination. His scar glinted as it twisted down his face. His black braid sat heavy on his neck as he lifted his fallen spear from the ground, taking aim.

His helmet was stifling, and narrowed his vision, and he must see far.

His shield was heavy, it burdened his arm, and his aim must be true.

With a running start, Leonidas drew back his arm and hurled the spear at the large, gilded platform upon which Xerxes stood.

Time seemed to slow as the spear traveled the long distance in the air. Around them, the Spartans fought and killed and pressed the Persians back, but new men took the places of the fallen.

The spear did not miss, but luck was not on Leonidas' side. The spear grazed the side of Xerxes' face, carving a long, bloody gash into the side of his cheek.

One huge paw of a hand reached up, gold rings on every finger, and covered the wound. Xerxes' eyes widened as he felt his own blood on his hand.

 _Even a god-king can bleed,_ Leonidas thought. The spear stuck into the back of the throne, emerging out of the other side. Yet Leonidas was disappointed, for he had not killed Xerxes.

The arrows rained down from the Persian archers that perched atop the high cliffs. They rained down upon the Spartans, striking flesh and sending them to the ground. 

All around them, Spartans fought and killed and died with their last breaths.

Stelios fought like a demon, slicing the head off one Persian, stabbing another in the gut, whirling around to cut the arm off another. He evaded swords and knives, only intent on killing the men that dared to invade his home.

The sword took him in the back, plunging deep, and when the Persian removed it, his life blood spilled out. His vision blurred, his legs buckled, and he hit the ground like a felled tree, his eyes dimming.

Captain Artemis, who'd lost a son on the battlefield, attacked the Persians with a savage fury, determined to avenge his son Astinos. He stabbed and hacked, and blood sprayed, and he set his mouth in a determined line as he killed. When he lost his sword, he used his shield, sending the heavy metal thing like a disc into the head of a Persian who ran at him. He scooped up his sword from where it lay impaled in the body of a dead warrior. 

A Persian came at him with a spear, ramming it into the captain's muscled stomach. He grunted, and blood leaked from his mouth, yet he grabbed the spear with two hands and yanked it forward, further impaling himself on the spear. He latched onto the Persian and would not let go. With two hands, he screamed and drove his sword into the chest of the Persian, who died upon the blade even as three other Persians surrounded the captain, driving swords into his back.

The captain fell to the dirt heavily, his eyes unblinking and cold, blood seeping from his mouth. 

Two arrows struck King Leonidas in the chest and stomach in rapid succession, bringing him down. Yet still he refused to kneel, balancing on the balls of his feet, sweating and gritting his teeth as he struggled to remain upright. Around him his men died with arrows in them, a sea of Spartans in red capes and bronze helmets, fierce even in death. Still some fought on, but were soon felled by Persian blades.

Still, Leonidas drew his sword and roared a mighty roar, long and loud and fierce, until the strength left him and he fell to the ground.

Stelios was still alive. An arrow in his chest, almost pinning him to the ground, and fatal wounds from Persian weapons, he groaned and shook as he tried to crawl to reach the king. He extended a shaking and bloody hand to grasp Leonidas'.

Leonidas panted with the effort of crawling forward, but he clasped Stelios' hand in his own. 

 _So young,_ he thought,  _too young. Yet he gave his life for Sparta._

Stelios gasped in pain as he held onto his king's hand. "My king," he rasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "It is an honor...to die at your side..."

"It is an honor to have lived at yours." Leonidas held onto his hand until his grip relaxed, and he knew the young Spartan was dead.

He struggled to he knees once more and gazed up,  chest heaving. The Persians nocked their barbed arrows and aimed downwards at the dead and dying Spartans. A thousand arrows, and Stelios had made a joke about them as they made a wall of bodies out of Persian dead.

"Our arrows will block out the sun," a Persian emissary had spit at him.

"Then we will fight in the shade," the Spartan had told him solemnly. 

Their time had come.

Leonidas faced the sky and the Persian archers without fear. "My queen," he gasped out, as they pulled back their strings. "My wife," he said, as they took aim. "My love," he said, extending his arms.

And the Persian arrows rained from the sky, blotting out the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love the movie 300, and Sparta as a civilization. This was fun to write, but sad. I simply couldn't put such an amazing scene into writing form. I'm afraid I didn't do it justice.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, though.


End file.
